Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) (2 page)

He appeared to be sleeping. Swallowing a shiver of icy fear, Ken stepped closer, confirming the rise and fall of his chest through the torn designer shirt. Moments later he groaned. His lashes were coal-black spikes against the chalky paleness of his skin. From her vantage point he appeared almost boyish, tousled hair marring his perfect features. "That pretty face survived intact," she muttered. Engulfed by remorse, she was mortified by her words.
What was wrong with her today?

"That's a relief. I wondered whether GQ . . . still want me."

When his eyes fluttered open, Kendall instinctively shielded his face from the glare. "I'm so s-sorry. I don't know where that came from." 

"Ken?"

"Please forgive me?" Hearing the rasp of fear in her voice, she fought to steady it. Melting down wouldn't help him stay calm. Conscious of his emerald gaze following every movement, she brushed away some of the dirt.

That had to be good, right?
His being aware of her? "You probably shouldn't move," she warned when he would have rolled. "Ambulance is coming. How do you feel?"

"Like I . . . tumbled off the side of a mountain."

Kendall sat back on her haunches. "I think your left arm is broken."

"It feels that way," he said through clenched teeth. "Good . . . thing I'm . . . right-"

"You've broken it before?" Gently, she ran shaking hands over the rest of him. Each time he winced, a jolt of anguish stabbed her chest.

His lips tightened. "Football. Reason why– switched to soccer."

She skimmed down his legs. "It doesn't seem as though anything else is broken, but I can't be sure."

"But my face is okay?"

Her glance was sharp. "Dammit, Traynor. I said I was sorry."

Harrison attempted a smile that twisted into a grimace, skin pulling taut over his cheekbones in an effort she recognized as a battle for control over pain. Pain appeared to be  winning. She made a consoling sound in her throat. "Where does it hurt?"

"Hell– everywhere."

On impulse, she nearly grabbed his right hand before thinking better of it. What if that was broken too? Instead, Ken laid a hand against his forehead. Her fingers bumped against his wallet lying in the dirt near his head. Scooping it up, she tucked it in her pocket. Of their own volition, her fingers returned to his dusty hair. The thick, black strands were surprisingly soft.

"S'Okay. Don't need-"

Groping to recall her first aid training, all she could remember was CPR. Since Harrison was breathing through rather perfectly formed lips, he clearly didn't need mouth-to-mouth. Dragging in a steadying breath, Kendall attempted to control her rising panic.

"Damn, Traynor, I feel responsible." Unsure of where she could touch without hurting him, she stroked his cheek until she heard the soft wail of sirens in the distance.

"It's not like you pushed me." He paused for several beats. "Right?"

She played along, pretending not to notice the thread of anxiety in his voice. "I solve all my contractor problems by dumping them into foundations." 

Aware of his gaze, Ken tried not to wince at the sight of his battered body. It wouldn't help him to know how afraid she was. "Won't be long now. I bet you'll be up and movin' before the weekend's out."

"Hope so."

Traynor was deathly pale.
Where were the damn paramedics?
When his eyelids fluttered shut, her heart plunged to her stomach. "Harrison?"

"Mmm?"

"You got big plans this weekend?" Panic seeping into her voice, she asked out of sheer desperation, unsure whether she should force him to remain conscious.

"Got something in– mind?"

"I think I'm supposed to keep you awake, so tell me what you're doing this weekend," she ordered.

His eyes jerked open at the command. "Working. Always work," he muttered.

"Friday night and no plans?" Overhead, she heard the painstaking progress of the rescue crew. Keeping him awake was better for her guilty conscience. The silence had gone on too long, filled only with his shallow breathing and the snorting sound of equipment rumbling above their heads. When a shower of pebbles fell from above, Kendall threw her body over his, careful to keep her weight off him. Her insides liquefied when she thought of another possible worry.
Please– not a cave-in.

Eyes closed, Harry's eyebrows scrunched in thought, oblivious to their impending doom. "Too much to do. Jake's– honeymoon. Jeff . . . vacation. All gone."

"So, you're in charge?" She could kiss off any hope of a financial reprieve. Traynor hadn't been in a giving mood when he arrived. Kendall could only assume his tolerance of her had deteriorated over the last several minutes.

"Guess so." When he attempted a weak smile, she experienced the uncomfortable urge to place his head in her lap. To do something– anything to alleviate his discomfort. But her daddy always said she had a knack for making bad situations worse.

Brushing dusty strands of hair from his forehead revealed an evil-looking gash she hadn't noticed earlier. Her stomach clenched in anguish.

"Dammit to hell. Is there
anywhere
on you that isn't hurt?" Her bottled-up remorse exploded in a wave of helpless fury.

"If I apologize . . . for falling, will you . . . stop yelling?"

Tears filled her throat and spilled from her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Traynor. If I could trade places with you, I would."

His eyes fluttered open at the croaky sound of her voice, searching through the haze of dust. "I hear them-"

Harrison's sharp groan of pain sent fear chasing down her spine. Swiping her tears, she burrowed through the rubble to grab his hand, forgetting it might be broken. His skin was cool and clammy. Hell—what did that mean? Shock? "They'll be here soon." Relief coursed through her when he acknowledged the pressure of her fingers with his.

"Ken– can you do . . . something for me?"

"Anything . . . just tell me." Amazed, Kendall watched as he fought to stay conscious. His voice had dropped to a whisper and she leaned down to hear his next words.

"Could you loosen your grip? You're crushing my hand."

***

His head pounding, Harry discovered it hurt to breathe. Over the roar in his ears, he heard an argument escalating. Forcing his eyes open, he glanced around. Hell– he was in an ambulance? He must be worse off than he knew.

"I need to go with him-"

"Ma'am– please step back."

Ken hadn't released his hand. She'd loosened the painful grip, thankfully, but he'd been aware of her presence the entire time. Even as he'd passed out– and again when he lurched awake while they carried him from the hole. Unfortunately, it didn't sound as though she would be leaving him anytime soon.

"Jeez– let her come." The
only
thing Harry wanted was to get the hell away from that crater. The sooner he made it to a hospital, the sooner they'd patch him up and he could drive back to Stafford.

Blissfully, it was quiet for a moment before Ken's smoky voice issued several orders to her team as she hoisted herself into the ambulance and they were underway. When her fingers slid between his, Harry was surprised to realize he'd been expecting them.

"Your name is really Ken?" She had freckles. A spatter of them across her nose.

"Short for Kendall." Her gaze had switched to the scenery flashing past the window in a blur of green and brown.

He hadn't thought he liked freckles. Now, he wasn't sure. Harry frowned. Was it possible he had a concussion? There wasn't a spot on his body that wasn't throbbing or bleeding. Maybe he was hallucinating.

Several minutes passed before she spoke again. "We're almost there."

"Doesn't change . . ." He frowned, trying to remember what he'd been about to say. "We still . . . your contract." When her eyes widened in surprise, Harry again experienced a flash of familiarity.
That color
.

"Let's worry about getting you patched up."

He wondered whether guilt had caused her change of heart. "Where's– briefcase?"

"The boys were bringing it out of the hole. I'll get it for you tonight, once you're squared away at the hospital."

"Thanks." His fingers twitched against hers and Harry experienced a strange flicker of comfort. She was one of the most prickly females he'd ever met. Ken had been belligerent, demanding and insulting prior to his nosedive through that fence. Yet, she'd been the first person into the hole to rescue him. Since then, she'd been surprisingly human. "Thanks for coming with me."

"When I nearly kill a man, it's only polite to cart him to the hospital."

He felt the strangest urge to smile, but damned if he knew how that could be possible. "Where's the original Ken?"

"My dad," she admitted. "He retired to Key Largo three years ago. I'm the only Ken left."

"You run the company?"

"I've worked for A & R since I was seventeen."

Their conversation ended when the ambulance arrived at the emergency room. Releasing his hand, Ken stepped aside while the attendants hustled him inside. The last Harry saw of her was a shaky smile of encouragement and a shy little wave. He was left to wonder whether she'd be waiting when he was finally released or if he'd have to hitch a ride back home.

***

Every instinct urged Kendall to follow him through those doors, but her brain jerked the reins. Lord's sake, she'd nearly killed the man. Fighting the urge to cry, she found a seat in the waiting room. Sinking into the chair, she closed her eyes. When an hour ticked by with no word, she approached the window for a status report, her heart thudding like a freight train.

"You're with Mr. Traynor?"

Nodding, she crossed her fingers. The clerk didn't need any ugly details. "Any news? Can I see him?"

"Not yet. But since you're waiting, you can complete the insurance papers." Slamming forms onto a clipboard, the harried woman passed it through the window.

"But-" Kendall sighed when the woman turned to answer the phone. After several minutes, she gave up. The slender bump in her pocket reminded her she held Harrison's wallet. It lay there, beckoning her to rifle through it.

Not rifle, she corrected. Rifling was when you didn't have an actual reason. Rifling was snooping. Releasing a gusty breath, she withdrew the leather fold.

Reviewing her mental list of the contents– there had to be at least one picture of the skinny supermodel Harrison was most assuredly dating. Probably sporting a thong, she amended. Guys like him didn't date average women like her. Kendall had grown numb to the inevitable feeling of failure at being a woman. But she'd learned the hard way that jeans and boots were suited for digging in the dirt. And it was more important to gain her crews' respect than to attempt lookin' cute (which was hopeless anyway). She ran a construction company– not a damn nail salon.

Summoning her courage, she removed the insurance card. Every thirty seconds, she snuck a peek at the doors, certain Harrison would burst through them and catch her snooping. She was relieved to return the forms a few minutes later, his wallet safely returned to her pocket. Back in her seat, she couldn't help wondering about the photo she'd spied. Harrison and his cousins, posing near the ski lift during a day of skiing at some fancy resort.   

"Ma'am? Mr. Traynor is asking for you."

Startled from her thoughts, Kendall eyed the nurse with apprehension. "Is he okay?"

"The doctor says he'll make a full recovery."

Releasing a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she trailed the nurse through doors leading to a corridor that smelled strongly of antiseptic.

"He'll need some recuperation at home for a week or so," the nurse continued.

She bit her lip at the news. When the pain meds wore off, Traynor would be seriously ticked– probably at her.

"This way, Mrs. Traynor."

Mrs.?
Kendall followed her into a brightly lit examination room. "I'm not-"

"Baby, is that you?"

Sweet Lord– a head injury.
Any intelligent words she might have summoned died in her throat. Nearing his bedside, she ran her gaze over his battered face, the angry stitches standing out in stark contrast against his bleached skin. His beautiful mouth twisted in a grim line when he tried to smile. Harrison's eyes fluttered open, revealing recognition of her and a strumming pain that hadn't been quelled by drugs.

"Harrison? Are y-you– are you all right?" She glanced at the nurse hovering near the door. "Is he alright?"

"Baby, come here. I can't see you under these bright lights."

Baby?
Sweating now, she swallowed a sob of fear.
A brain injury
. Adams & Rey was about to have their corporate ass sued off. "Is that better, Tray- I mean. . . Harrison?"

"Kenny, bend down so I can talk to you." An IV'ed hand reached for hers.

She shot a nervous peek at the nurse.

"Go ahead," she encouraged. "The doctor will be a few minutes."